Danny offered by way of feeble explanation. “I’m sorry.” Claire nodded and looked away, pressing the side of her face into the pillow. There was no point in trying to hide her frustration. He was all too aware of it as he rolled out from between her legs and flopped down limply beside her. It wasn’t like this last night, she mournfully observed. Last night, he was fine. Last night was fantastic. But the memory had faded to a ghostlike transparency in light of tonight’s blown performance: a minute of vigorous slamming together… just enough to set off her own urgent climb toward climax… only a minute, before he started to hoot and shiver and shoot his load, then grow weak and flaccid within her. Danny, for his part, felt absolutely terrible, Wimpy excuses aside, the fact of the matter was that he’d been barely even there: he ejaculated, but he definitely did not get off. Most women aren’t aware that there’s a difference; they assume that if a guy shot his wad, he got his jollies.
